


The 163rd Annual Hunger Games

by heathy_chandy



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25951843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathy_chandy/pseuds/heathy_chandy
Summary: Eighty-eight years after the Second Rebellion, Panem has truly re-built itself, more grand than ever before.  But while the Capitol is prospering and the Districts are treated more humanely, the Hunger Games are still occurring.  Meet Peridotte, Ivy, Faline and Harlowe; four girls whose lives have truly been turned upside-down by the Capitol's sick form of entertainment.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1 - Peridotte

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I absolutely love the idea of creating an alternate world that occurs after the Second Rebellion. I hope you enjoy reading this fanfic too.
> 
> btw - pls leave a comment so I can get some feedback about my writing. I always love a bit of constructive criticism :)

PERIDOTTE TOURMALINE - DISTRICT 1

“Blood. Sweat. Tears. That is what I asked of you ladies when we commenced our training ten years ago. I have pushed you and strained you and the final result can be seen before me; a group of young women who are ready to face the ultimate challenge and gain the ultimate prize. But, of the six of you, only one will be chosen.”

I roll my eyes with Sateena as Apollo finishes his latest speech.  He is so dramatic!. Our trainer walks around the briefing room, eyeing us girls up and down - probably just trying to increase the ‘suspense’. Well, this moment certainly is suspenseful.

Apollo clears his voice; “The chosen female volunteer for District 1 in the 163rd Annual Hunger Games is… Peridotte Tourmaline!”

What?!? I manage a smile as Apollo and some of the other trainers lining the room clap.  How was I chosen to be this years’ tribute? I’m far from the best girl at the training centre this year; Chenille is; she used to even better than the older boys - now, at 18, she truly is the best. Surely she should have been chosen. As I flick my hair and laugh at the applause I’m getting, trying to maintain a cool demeanour despite the fear pumping through my veins, I see Chenille as well as the other girls looking darkly at me. 

We file out of the room; Sateena and I walk side by side. “Peri, you did so well. I always knew you could do it.”

“Sateena, of course I got chosen.” It hurts me to be so crude with my friend, but I have to pretend this isn’t a surprise. No one else can know that I’m terrified of the prospect of going into the games. 

“Congratulations Peridotte,” drawls Chenille, stalking up behind us, “good luck in the Games - I wonder if you’ll make it out alive?” I can feel her scathing glare on the back of my neck as Sateena and I round the corner from the training centre and enter the Main Street of District 1. It’s late spring, meaning I have a few months until the reaping. Just a few months to perfect my training. Maybe just a few months to live. 

Sateena bids me farewell before turning down her street and I continue to wander on, eventually coming to the Markets. There are stalls selling pretty trinkets; pendants, earrings, charms, gems, dream catchers, fur coats. The list goes on and on. The markets are one of my favourite things about District 1; they are always so colourful. I wander around, searching for my favourite stall, when I realise She must have gone home for the day. Before going back to my house, I treat myself to a cinnamon roll.  Mmmm. I bite into the roll; the feeling is so blissful that I almost forget about the impending fear of the Hunger Games. I take a long time to stroll back home, dreading facing my parents.  
When I get home, I kick off my shoes and walk straight into the living room, masking my emotions. My mother and father sit anxiously, as if dreading the bad news I may bring home.

“Well?” my father questions me, “What happened? What took you so long?”

“I....” there is a lump in my throat, “I got picked to volunteer.” There, the words are out now. Hurriedly I resume the stony-faced expression that I adopt whenever I am in the presence of my parents.

My parents nod approvingly at me.

“Well done Peridotte. We did not expect anything less. Bring honour to our family.” my mother says stiffly before telling my to go to my room.

As I enter my bland room, I realise that I can never truly be free here. So, I grab a pair of sneakers, unlatch the window and expertly clamber down the rose vine that snakes up the northern side of the house. Careful to not pass any windows, I jump to the ground and sprint into the thicket that surrounds the house. I come out of this small patch of bush onto Luxia Street before following a series of small avenues towards the outskirts of District 1.

I run for almost an hour, the houses around me becoming progressively shabbier. At last I see it when a stitch in my side threatens to make me scream in pain. I’m good at long distance running, but I have never run so far so quickly before. I make a mental note to practice running more before the Games. 

I round a corner and then I see it; the derelict little hut sitting on top of a hill, surrounded by wildflowers, wind chimes and a twisted little fence. I run up and vault the gate before knocking on the red door. 

“Tasselle,” I gasp as a tall figure opens the door “it’s me. They chose me.”

I look up into the eyes of my older sister, the light green hue mirroring mine; we are identical apart from her lovely flowing golden locks and my crimson ones. Although only four years older than me at 22, Tasselle seems so much older, wiser and more tired than I am. She ushers me into the little cottage that she shares with her husband, Jupiter, where I sit on the soft, flowered sofa. 

She goes and makes a tea at the little kitchen that sits in the corner. The lumpy sofa sits in one corner of the room and the bed on another. The mismatching curtains are stained and fraying a bit, while a writing desk with wonky legs stands in the middle of the room. By far the best things about the room are the little coloured stones that hang from the roof, bending the light and causing patterns to dance across the walls.

“So, what happened P?” she asks me, offering me a mug.

“I got chosen to volunteer. I’m going into the Games, Tass. And I’m going to die. There’s no backing out now.”

She purses her lips before replying; “If they thought you wouldn’t win they wouldn’t select you to be the volunteer.”

“But why did they choose me?” I cry, flopping down dramatically, “They should have chosen Chenille. She’s way better than me.”

“I’m sure Apollo knows what he’s doing.” she replies calmly, placing her hand on mine. We sit there together for a while. Just quietly holding each others’ hands. 

My tea has almost cooled and the cuckoo clock on the wall calls that it is seven o’clock before I speak again; “Tass, how did you feel when they chose you to volunteer?” She’s quiet for a moment before replying.

“Well,” she sighs, “I felt overwhelmed. Confused. Angry. Like I hadn’t had a chance to live my life. You know what Peri, what if you just didn’t volunteer, just like I did? What if you just waited until Chenille took the place of whichever poor girl is chosen?”

“But Mother and Father would kill me.”

“When I did just that four years ago, I knew what a world of trouble I would be in with our parents. That’s why I moved out here and started selling stuff at the markets. It was tough but I was free. And I had Jupiter. You could come live with me P. You’ll always have me.”

“Tass,” I sigh, “you know I’m not as strong willed as you. I’m just little old me who does what Mother and Father tell me to do. I’m not brave and clever like you are.”

“No, Peri, you’re even braver and stronger and cleverer. Go home and think it over. It’s getting late.” She stands up and leads me to the door where we embrace.

“By the way Tass, where was your stall at the market today?” Her eyes immediately darken.

“Our parents don’t love me flaunting my alternative ways. Now get home, it’s dark.”

I walk down the hill, taking my time to get back home. Lanterns now line the streets, casting an eerie glow over houses. As I make my way back, I have a slight spring in my step,  maybe I won’t have to go to the Games.


	2. Chapter 2 - Ivy

IVY HURSTWOOD. - DISTRICT 7

“Ugh Elswyth, that’s icky!” I laugh as my twin sister picks up a worm from the soft soil and chases me around the glade, “Put the poor worm back.”

Huffing and rolling her eyes at me, she begrudgingly plops the worm back on the ground where we watch it burrow down deep. 

“Happy now?” she asks me. I nod in reply.

Our older sister, Aspen, sticks her head out from behind a big tree where she is planting a sapling. 

“Hurry up you two, we need to get this done or we won’t get paid. And you won’t be laughing when you go hungry.”

We kneel down next to our baby tree, our twenty-seventh for today. It’s a little western red cedar.

“Hey there little guy, how you doin’? El and I are going to plant you and you’re gonna grow into a big tree. Then we’re going to chop you down and send you to the Capitol so you can be a chair for some lazy bum to sit on.”

“Oh come on Ivy, stop talking to the trees and get to work.” says Elswyth.

***

We continue planting for the rest of the afternoon and soon our little glade is filled with little saplings in perfect rows. I count forty-six trees in our glade so far. I’m glad to see that Eucalypta, who’s family is planting in a neighbouring glade has far fewer trees than us. 

All the District 7 children make their way back to their houses just as the sun begins setting over the pine forest. Aspen, El and I reach our little log cabin with our dirty knees and brown-stained hands. Through the window, we can see that Mum is already in the kitchen and Beech is sitting on a pile of wood in the corner, her fat little legs swinging over the side.

“Hey Beechie. How was your day?”

“Pretty good Ivy. Mama made us bread.”

I smile at my little sister as I grab a hunk of the fresh bread from the counter and plonk myself down on some of the chairs on the deck outside with El and Aspen. Mum even comes outside too, with steaming hot mugs of tea, of course.

“We planted forty-six trees today. That means we’ll get quite a lot of money when I go collect it tomorrow.” Aspen says.

“Good love, maybe I can buy you girls some new ribbons next time I go into town. To thank you for your hard work,” Mam replies.

“Nah Mum,” I say, “we’d prefer lollies!”

“Yes, lollies!” cries Beech as she runs in circles around out little cabin. 

“Alright girls, I’ll get you lollies,” smiles Mam softly.

We just sit and watch the sun set together; munching our bread and sipping our tea with Beech running around on the grass. After a while, Elswyth speaks up.

“Only a week until the Reaping,” she says quietly.

“Oh hush El. Don’t say that - just enjoy what is now,” comes Mam’s reply, but I detect a sadness in her tone. I know exactly what she’s thinking. I choke back a sob with a mouthful of the hot tea: it's strong, tasting like pine needles and smelling like the deep forest. Like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, what do you think so far? I've chosen to write this fanfic through different perspectives. :)
> 
> Also, sorry about it being a short chapter.


	3. Chapter 3 - Faline

FALINE CORBINN - DISTRICT 10

I am so glad to be done in the abattoir for the day. The stench of blood and animal poo and sweat is just too much sometimes. I hate the sound the cows make when they know they’ve reached the end; the bellows and grunts before the sharp zap of the electric gun, aimed right at the brain. Of course, I’m not old enough to stun them yet, my job is just to slit their throats, killing them while they are unconscious: sounds brutal but it’s entirely painless. I’m practically and expert at bleeding out cows now. I know just the right artery in the neck to kill them good and proper. But I hate the abattoir. It’s so hot and the stench of death is overwhelming; I much prefer raising the cattle on the ranch. 

I say bye to Skillet, who is still cleaning up the blood off the floor and collect my pay from him before changing out of my gown, donning my hat and stepping out into the blinding District 10 sunshine.  Gawd, Summer is hot. I run down the gravel path, with the heavy coins jingling in my pocket; the sparse pine trees that line the road offer me little shade. When I turn left onto Da’s ranch I am dehydrated and practically shove my head into the water trough outside. The water is cool and sweet and tastes like hay. With my thirst quenched, I go looking for Da in the pastures. 

I find him riding Hollyhock in the furthest paddock, checking on the cattle. 

“Hey Da,” I call.

"Faline. You home already? I’m just about done out here, do you want a ride back to the house?”

“Sure do,” I grin, jumping up on Hollyhock’s broad back behind him. I pat the chestnut mare and we ride back to the homestead. We have a pretty good house for District 10 - probably because Da is from one of the most wealthy and well-regarded families, he’s also one of the best cattle farmers. We get to stay in the big house if we use our land for Capitol ranching. We get to keep some of the meat too though.

We arrive back at the house and I bound up the front stairs, and kick off my shoes in the entry hall. The slate floor is cool against my feet but the plush, red carpet that lines the hallway is soft. I immediately get tea going. Soon dinner is ready and I place the three plates of steak - which is what we eat almost every night - and greens that I picked from the edge of the woods, on the table. 

“How’s dinner Mum?” I whisper at the empty seat across from me while fingering the little gold locket that hangs around my neck. Da looks at me sadly, the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes crease as he smiles at me.

“Dinner’s lovely Faline,” he says.

After we finish eating, I wash up the dishes and sit in the main hallway of the house: it’s my favourite spot, right under the picture of Mum. She was pretty, with her long honey-coloured hair and crystalline blue eyes. Her skin was tanned from hours spent mustering in the fields with Da, but soft because she loved to use a cream that smelled like lavender and roses. I remember how she used to sing to me, her soft voice rich with love and emotion:

Close your eyes, sleep is more than it seems

Soon you'll discover a garden of dreams  
A blossoming tapestry lights up the dark  
Dreams are the flowers that bloom in your heart

Rose dreams are red like a new valentine  
Violets are blue 'cause they're sad all the time  
Daisy dreams shine like the sun in the park  
Dreams are the flowers that bloom in your heart

So dream and bloom, bloom and dream  
And watch your garden grow  
When you awaken with a smile  
Everyone will know

You've been to dream land and now you've returned  
Eager to share everything that you've learned  
Believing in dreams isn't really so hard

Dreams are the flowers that bloom in your heart  
Dreams are the flowers that bloom in your heart  
Sitting on the cold slate floor, I begin to grow numb as the cool summer wind blows through the nearly-empty house. Realisation dawns on me as I realise it’s the reaping tomorrow, and I feel more alone than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next character in this fanfic. What do you think of her?


	4. Chapter 4 - Harlowe

HARLOWE NIGHTGLOVE - DISTRICT 13

The girl standing in front of me is pretty; she is clean and smells like rosemary and soap, with her dark brown hair braided back, tied with a pink ribbon. She is wearing a pink dress, beginning light and becoming darker with every ruffle, ending at her knees. Her collar is edged in lace and she stares back at me with unblinking blue eyes. The girl in the mirror is me, but she looks so much like Kessie… No, don’t think like that. It’s the first thing other than grey jumpsuits that I have worn in a year and finally I can see my curves and recognise that I am actually pretty. I step out of the plain bathroom and into the main living quarters of our bland apartment; what I am wearing seems to be the only pretty thing I own here in District 13. Mother is sitting on the chair, darning a hole in a grey sock; presumably mine. Her hard expression becomes a soft smile when she sees me.

“Oh Harlowe,” she breathes, “you look beautiful sweetheart. Kessie’s dress suits you so well.” She chokes up a bit at the mention of my sister's name and I do too. I give her a hug and breathe in her smell; rosemary and soap. My brother, Easton, is letting Father straighten his blue tie; he looks so handsome. 

“Harlowe, Easton, you’re ready,” my father says reluctantly. I not in response as we file out of the apartment and join every other family to walk robotically to the main level in the underground labyrinth of District 13. I join up with my friend, Kierynn, after Easton and I sign in. I see him stand in the eighteen-year old boys section as Kierynn and I join the other fifteen-year old girls. 

Frollick Everdust, District 13’s escort strides onto the stage in a frilly, sky-blue suit, complete with a ridiculous ruff and towering wig. 

“Hello my dear District 13,” he calls into a microphone,”and welcome to the Reaping of the 163rd Annual Hunger Games! Before we begin to choose one valiant young man and woman to represent our district, I would like to enlighten you with a clip straight from the Capitol.” Our attention is directed to the four large screens that surround us. Suddenly, the face of our president, Plumeria Fairhorn appears and she begins to speak in her rich, deep voice;

“People of Panem; my children. Our great nation exists only from the hard labor of the Districts and the rules we must enforce. Twice, the Districts have bitten the generous had that feeds them; the Capitol; the beating heart of Panem. The Capitol has recognised its mistakes and I have worked hard to instil peace and harmony throughout the Districts. Still, tradition is tradition, and we must pay the price for our ancestors’ mistakes. The Hunger Games gives us hope. They are a reminder of what happens to those who rebel against our nation. The Hunger Games is a stage for a valiant young man or woman to rise to the ultimate challenge and to succeed in winning the ultimate prize. People of Panem, I give you the 163rd Annual Hunger Games!”

“Isn’t that just inspiring!” cries Frollick as the propaganda video concludes. “Now, for the moment we have all been waiting for. It is time to select one young man and woman for the honour of representing District 13 in the 163rd Annual Hunger Games!”

Kierynn clenches my hand and I sense her trembling. There aren’t very many children in District 13 - making our likelihood of being reaped even higher.

Frollick trots over to the jar with the slips of paper with the girls’ names on them. He reaches a hand with nails like talons in the bowl; taking his time to select for dramatic effect. Finally choosing one, he returns to the microphone before breaking the seal on the paper.

“This year’s female tribute for District 13 is… Harlowe Nightglove!”

No

No

No

No this can’t be happening. There is a ringing in my ears and my vision goes blurry as some Peacekeepers tear me away from Kierynn and usher me towards the stage. Their gloved hands are hard in the small of my back and hot tears threaten to spill out of my eyes as I mount the steps to the stage. Frollick gives his hand out to me and I reluctantly take it, catching a glimpse of myself in one of the screens surrounding the crowd. I look pretty, but small and pathetic - definitely a Bloodbath Tribute. No. I push all my emotions aside, straighten my shoulders and smile sweetly at the audience.

“Harlowe, how old are you dear?” Frollick asks me.

“I’m fifteen,” I reply.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can we please have a warm round of applause for our lovely Miss Harlowe Nightglove, this year’s female tribute for District 13!” Frollick breaks out into rapturous applause and I see Mother and Father standing out in the audience: tears are streaming down her face and he is holding her tightly, his mouth set in a grim line. Then I see Easton, looking back at me hopelessly and Kierynn is trying not to cry. I just force myself to smile and wave at the cameras as Frollick announces that he will now be choosing the male tribute. Again, he reaches into the glass bowl on his right and selects a slip of paper. 

“District 13’s male tribute is… Rust Flatway!”

A tall boy whom I recognise from school emerges from the fifteen-year old boys section. He has curly brown hair the colour of chestnuts, tanned skin and a wide smile. He looks horrified as he climbs the stage but looks stoically straight into the camera. 

“Well, why don’t you two shake hands?” says Frollick as Rust and I shake. He gives me a sad smile before Frollick announces;

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you District 13’s tributes, Harlowe Nightglove and Rust Flatway. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So sorry that I haven't been able to post recently. I have had a lot going on recently and study always comes first :(  
> Harlowe is my final main character in this story - I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5 - Final Goodbyes

PERIDOTTE TOURMALINE

I sit in the small room, pressing my fingernails into my palms until small crescent shapes appear, some red with blood. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling causes the room to glow warmly, but all I feel is coldness. Not numb - numb is good. Just cold. The toe of my slightly heeled shoe draws circles in the red carpet while the musty smell of the velvet chair is almost unbearable. I find it hard to comprehend what I just did. Why I did it. Ok - fine, I argued with my parents. I had finally realised why I had been chosen to volunteer - not because of my own talent, but because of them. 

It started after I visited Tasselle a week ago. Still debating whether or not I should volunteer, I went to her; the only safety I had ever known. I remembered when she was chosen to volunteer four years ago when she truly was the best in her class; our parents were so proud but she stoically refused to volunteer. She ran away with her then-boyfriend, Jupiter, and lived in the little hut on the periphery of the district, selling her wares at the market. She is the strongest person I know; that’s why I went to her. She told me, “don’t volunteer, come live with me.” But I told her that I was too scared. Too scared to face our parents. 

That’s when she told me about Organza, Onyx, Vertuoline and Citrine. Our siblings. Our parents are demented; thirsty for fame and glory; sacrificing their children for ‘family honour’. Organza was the first, she died at sixteen; five days into the 145th Annual Hunger Games - torn to shreds by panther mutts. Onyx - he died in the final battle of the 147th Annual Hunger Games after the District 2 male bludgeoned him to death with a mace. Vertuoline was only twelve when our parents forced her to volunteer, believing she was strong enough for the 150th Hunger Games, but she died slowly of poisoning when a venomous snake bit her. Lastly it was Citrine. She didn’t even make it to her games. Our parent’s fierce regime caused her untimely death at fourteen. No-one knows if she killed herself or if training just drained the life out of her, but it was ultimately hushed-up. I knew nothing about my four dead siblings until last week. That is why, this morning, I told my parents that I would not volunteer.

Father was furious. He hit me on the back of my head - in a spot where bruises wouldn’t show but still caused black spots to appear in the cor news of my vision. Then he took out the cane and whipped my back. Mother just stood there, watching, unmoving, while I glared at her as small rivulets of blood coursed down my bare back. When Father decided he was done, he ordered Mother to dress my wounds so the blood wouldn’t seep through my clothing.

“You bring honour to our family Peridotte,” he seethed, “you bring honour or I will kill you.”

Mother’s fingers were as cold as ice as she curled my hair for the cameras today and I flinched every time she touched my skin. I have a new-found hatred for my parents; one that makes my skin crawl just at the thought of them. They used to scare me, but not anymore. But, if there is one thing I have learned, Father never breaks his promises. So I knew that, if I stayed, he would find some way to kill me - his estranged daughter. 

That’s how I made up my mind, that impulsive action when little Chai Emery was called to be the female tribute, that moment when I stepped out of the crowd and shouted “I volunteer.” That’s why I did it. Not for Father, but for my freedom. I know that, if I die I will be free from my parents’ clutches. And, if I do miraculously win the Games, I know that I will be untouchable. 

So, that is how I came to be sitting here, waiting, in a small room inside the District 1 Justice Building. Waiting. Waiting.

The door bursts open and Tasselle rushes in, followed by Jupiter. They envelop me in their warm embrace.

“P, why did you do it? I thought you said you would come live with us?” Tass looks heartbroken. I look my sister in the eyes and say wistfully,

“I am free.”

Tasselle looks at me, shakes her head but accepts my statement, wholly understanding how I feel. Jupiter bends down to me.

“Know that we love you Peridotte, and that you were always welcome in our home,” he says. I nod in response, there are tears in my eyes. Not from sadness, but from this elation I am feeling. I am free.

Tass takes my hand and presses something hard into it, it’s warm from her body heat. I look down at the little, light green, tear-shaped stone sitting in my hand.

“It’s your token. A peridot,” she says, “to match your eyes and your name.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, “it’s beautiful.” Tasselle takes a silver ribbon from her pocket and threads it through a small hole in the top of the stone, turning it into a pendant. She then fastens it behind my neck.

“There, you look wonderful. Now, go show them.”

“I love you Tass,” I say feebly.

“I love you too P.”

With that the Peacekeepers storm into the room and announce that the time is up. Tears are streaming down Tass’ face as she and Jupiter are led away. The wave goodbye and then the door closes.

It reopens suddenly and Sateena flies in, practically throws herself on me and begins blubbering.

“Oh Peri you are so brave. I could never do that. I do hope you win. Please win. If you win can I live with you? I wonder how many people you will kill. Hopefully you get the most. Those babies are pathetic. Teach them a less..”

“Sateena, do yourself and everyone else a favour and shut up,” I say. I am honestly so not in the mood for my friend's rambling and whinging. She gives me a small smile;

“Sorry.” She then pulls me into a big hug and we just stand there for a minute.

“Peri,” she says timidly, “please don’t die. I’ll really miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too Sateena.”

She is a snivelling, snotty mess as Peacekeepers ask her to leave the room. I catch a glimpse of her swinging black hair just before the door closes. Is that the last time I will see my best friend?

I spend the next thirty minutes pacing my room, waiting to be ushered to the train. Of course, my parents don’t come. Why should they? I’m glad though. My father will never be able to touch me again. I reminisce to my childhood, thinking about the few happy times I spent with Sateena, making mud pies in the thicket behind my house. Or thinking about when Tasselle dropped an egg onto Glaze Kensington’s head when I was eight because he was teasing me for my red hair. He’s my district partner now, and I am honestly so terrified of him. He is almost better than Chenille and is way taller than me. Plus, he knows how to wield a sword scarily well. 

The pendant rests hard against my chest and I am brought back into reality where my conflicting emotions threaten to overwhelm me. I am so seethingly angry at my parents for killing my siblings, so scared of going into the Games, so happy to be free and so… confused. I am kneeling on the floor and pressing my forehead into the carpet, trying to sort my life out, when the door opens and Cerulea, my escort, walks in.

“Come dear, it’s time to go to the train."


	6. Chapter 6 - On the train

IVY HURSTWOOD

I am trembling as I sit on the train even though Ackerly’s arms are wrapped firmly around me. Ackerly is seventeen and Aspen’s boyfriend, but he has always been like a brother to me, and now we are going into the games together. And I am terrified. 

“Right, so, we have a fourteen-year old and a seventeen-year old. Not too bad, all things considered,” comes the harsh voice of one of our mentors, Sycamo, as the strides into the room. Timid and shy, Laurel, the other mentor trails behind him. Sycamo is somewhere in his late forties, having won about tw years ago. He is tall, with broad shoulders and sandy hair. Coming to stand behind Ackerly, he claps down on the boys shoulder.

“Now, would you two like to be trained together or apart?”

“Together,” replies Ackerly, "right Ivy?” I can only nod, I have been in a state of shock ever since the Peacekeepers tore me away from my family. Now Ackerly is all I have. 

“Right then - let’s begin to get an idea of your strengths and weaknesses, ‘eh?” Sycamo gestures towards an avox who hurriedly presses a button that causes part of the wall to slide back and reveal a shiny white board. Then our mentor picks up a silvery pen and begins writing in green ink.  STRENGTHS and WEAKNESSES

“Ivy,” Laurel says from behind me and I jump. She was so quiet that I barely realised she was there,“Ivy, what are you good at?” She has dark brown skin and hazel eyes and looks as if she could be blown over by the slightest breath of wind. Laurel constantly wrings her hand and furrows her brow - looking like she is constantly in pain.

“Well.. I can run okay, I guess,” I say, knowing full well that it sounds pathetic.

“That’s a start,” Sycamo nods in agreement, writing it on the board.

“And Ackerly has started to teach me how to use an axe,” I continue, “I can only use the little ones though.”

The two victors nod and look at each other. I know that look. It’s the same look that the safety warden gave Mam after the paper factory collapsed two years ago. Dad was working there; trying to repair some malfunctioning machinery. He didn’t make it. They know I won’t make it. I stand up from my chair and run to my room, tears clouding my vision. I collapse onto my bed and sob, fingering the little wooden figure in my pocket. It’s in the shape of a willow elf and it’s Elswyth’s. Dad was talented with wood and gave Elswyth and I tokens for our fifth birthday. El got the elf and I got an Ivy leaf.

I think back to after the Reaping. El and I pressed our foreheads together; her hot breath in my face. Tears slid down our cheeks as Beech, Aspen and Mam enveloped us in a hug. Aspen’s neat hair was a mess - she was distraught as both her little sister and boyfriend were leaving. Beech was bawling. Growing up in this world, she is all too familiar with the world of the Hunger Games. She’d seen the blood on TV; would she see my death? Mam was crying too; trying to stay strong for my sake. And, all this time, Elswyth was whispering, “I love you, stay safe, I love you,” over and over again. Hugging myself to her I felt something hard and cool in my hand. I looked down to see the little elf figurine that El took with her everywhere.

“Take her with you Ivy. She’ll be your token. To remember me. Then I can keep you safe,” she said.

“No El.. She’s yours!” I replied.

“And I’m giving her to you: to borrow.”

"Fine, take this then.” I take my little wooden ivy leaf from my pocket and give it to her. “To remember me.”

She nods and kisses my forehead before the Peacekeepers enter the room and drag them away and I am screaming for her. Screaming for all of them to come back. But they won’t. And I will never see them again. And I will die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's my latest chapter. What do you think?


	7. Chapter 7 - Reflections

FALINE CORBINN - District 10

I am sitting next to little Arlo, Bellina, Guernsey and Wolfe on the plush sofa as the train speeds off towards the Capitol. Arlo has managed to make a mess of his face after indulging himself on the custard creams and chocolate treats. Poor kid, it’s like he’s never seen food before. But, then again, he has come from the poorer part of the district. He’s all skin and bone. 

The woman on the television, Katinka Hassian, begins this year’s commentary of the Hunger Games. The screen flashes to an image of District One where the Reaping commences. Peridotte Tourmaline volunteers and bounds up onto the stage in the place of Chai Emery, her crimson hair glinting in the sunlight. She is very pretty and a definite Career, but I sense a sadness about her. Her district partner is Glaze Kensington; a boy just as beautiful as Peridotte but doubly as terrifying. The District 2 tributes look the same as always; hulking, bloodthirsty killing-machines. The female, Spartia, is only sixteen, the same age as me, but looks bigger than the average man in District 10. Her district partner, Crito, looks as if he could snap someone in two with his bare hands; I shudder at the thought. 

The District Three tributes, Gamma and Atomus, look relatively harmless as do the tributes from 5 and 6. Before them, the pair from District 4 look muscular and majestic and I’d love to be as tall and pretty as the girl; Coraline. I feel bad for the fourteen year old girl from 7. When her name is announced she falls to the ground in a heap and has to be reconciled by a girl who looks identical to her before being carried to the stage by Peacekeepers.

The girl and boy from District 8 are two weak twelve year olds, but 9 seems to have some fairly strong contenders in Grainne and Kimmel. Then, before I know it, the cameras are closing in on the town square in District 10. Koi, the escort, calls my name; her splotchy facial tattoos that look like fish scales are particularly bad on camera. Then it is a shot of me - walking up onto the stage.  Did I actually look that horrified?. Then I see Da in the audience.  Da . I miss him so badly. What if I don’t come home for the arena? What if I have to leave Da alone?

My attention is directed back to the screen when Koi picks Arlo’s name from the bowl. He cries as his mother screams from the audience. Standing beside me and Koi on the stage, he looks so small and weak. He refuses to look at the television, picking at the embroidery on a cushion.

The Reaping quickly moves on to a shot of District 11, then 12, then 13. Then it’s over.

I think back to those 26 kids reaped into the Games. Some eager like the Careers, and some the polar opposite, like the little girl from 7, or the two twelve year olds from District 8.

It’s late at night, and after watching the recaps I’m dog-tired. I stumble off to my bedroom after bidding the others goodnight and jump into the shower. I lie in bed in my fleecy pyjamas, smelling of lavender and roses. Like Mum. Tears cloud my vision as I rock back and forward on my mattress; dreading the days to come and missing my family so badly. I am still crying when I eventually fall asleep to the steady swaying of the train carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry guys. It's a lil' bit of a short chapter today but I'll probably post again soon.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Captiol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harlowe arrives in the Capitol.

HARLOWE NIGHTGLOVE.

The Capitol is huge.

It’s a large, sprawling Metropolis that is so different to the underground labyrinth of District 13. Everything is shiny and bright and sparkly and so, so.. overwhelming.

Our train pulls up at the Station and is practically engulfed by people in positively frightening clothes and garish makeup. And I thought Frollick’s sense of style was awful. Rust comes and stands beside me as we gape at the crowds through the window. They are cheering. Cheering for us.

Without thinking, I grab Rust’s hand and begin waving out the window and blowing kisses into the crowd. He looks confusedly at me for a moment before doing the same; smiling that beautiful smile of his. Vanil, our mentor, comes to stand beside us. He is District 13’s only victor and won at 18 fourteen years ago.

“Alright, are you guys ready?” he asks us, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. Rust and I nod in reply. Frollick and Vanil then lead us out of the train and the crowds part to let us through. Reaching out to touch my hair, or try to shake my hand or feel my dress. I can do nothing but smile and continue walking; entirely bewildered by the spectacle and its stark contrast to the blandness of District 13.

After walking a block or two, we reach a tall tower that Frollick calls the Tribute Centre. Apparently we will be staying there. We walk further down the same street to another building called the Remake Centre. We walk into the grand lobby before turning down several corridors. Rust and I are split up and are sent into two adjacent rooms with the number ’13’ on their doors. 

I sit on the cold bench until a group of flappy Capitolites enter the room. One of the women, the one with cat-like eyes and purple irises introduces themselves as my prep team.

“Hello Harlowe dear. My name is Cleodia and this is Rhapsodie and Dahlis,” she says gesturing wildly to the two women behind her.

Rhapsodie, a short, stout woman with pink gems encrusted into her face, guides me into another room with a bath in it, where I am scrubbed with a pungent chemical. Then I am laid down on a cold bench and plucked, waxed and scrubbed before being dunked back into the tub. They spread some nice cream on my red raw skin and it calms down immediately. Then they set to work on my hair; trimming it and making it shiny.

When I’m done I feel cleaner than I have ever felt in my life. Dahlis hands me a papery, thin robe. The three women then place me in a chair and begin layering some creams onto my face. Makeup isn’t common back in 13 and Mum only wore it for very special occasions… which was never. They put some shimmery powder over my eyelids and put blush on my cheeks. When they are satisfied, they leave the room. And I wait. 

I count six minutes and forty-three seconds before a tall woman enters the room. Her skin is very pale - almost white and it blends in with her hair. She wears a knee-length dress that is purely white and snowy-coloured high heels. The only signs of colour on this woman are her ruby-red lips and her golden irises.

“Hello, my name is Airi and I am your stylist,” she says. Ugh she even talks in a clinical, crisp voice that makes me shudder.

With her she carries an array of clothing bags that presumably contain my costume for the Tribute Parade. She pulls out some black, sequinned fabric from the fist bag and instructs me to put it on: it’s a bodysuit. Then Airi goes about attaching embellishments to my costume; tassels, more sparkles, fixing my hairstyle, adding more smoky-eyed make up. Finally she places a matte black crown on my head.

“There,” she says, turning me to face the mirror. I almost gasp at my appearance. I no longer look fifteen - I look completely otherworldly. My sequinned black bodysuit causes light to dance across the room and my hair falls in neat, brown curls; adorned with the intricate black crown. Wow. Normally the District 13 tributes dress up in the stock standard grey jumpsuit or as nuclear bombs, but this year…

Suddenly Airi clicks a little button that she is holding in the palm or her hand. My crown lights up and emits sparks and smoke that rises up to form a mushroom cloud. It looks so stupid.  Hahah. Very funny. I suppose my beautiful outfit was too good to be true. I look like I’m wearing a messed-up chef’s hat. The cloud quickly dissipates and Airi leads me through the hallways and we are escorted to where the parade will start. Just before the Avenue of the Tributes. 

Rust is dressed identically to me. He gives me a smile before gesturing at his outfit, “So, what do you think?”

“Terrifying,” I laugh. I stretch up and whisper into his ear, “Have you seen the mushroom clouds yet?”

He grins and nods and I can tell he thinks they look ridiculous as well. I look around at the other tributes. The pair from 4, Coraline and Caspian, I think, look classically beautiful in their revealing ensembles; interwoven with fishing nets. The District 1 tributes are also breathtaking; adorned with all sorts of jewels, the girl’s crimson hair standing out against her shimmering costume. Then there is the pair from 6 - only painted in silver in some stylist’s pitiful attempt at being ‘creative’. I shake my head and am so grateful for my at-least-decent costume. Thankfully I’m not dressed like two ridiculous ears of corn (District 9). 

Airi, Frollick, Vanil and Rust’s stylist Darthell usher us onto our carriage behind the tributes from twelve; Wrenna and Pick. Airi presses the button that synchronises Rust’s and my costume’s mushroom cloud into my hand and gives me a small nod, as if to say ‘good luck’. Vanil comes and leans against our carriage.

“Okay guys, you want to look powerful but happy to be here. Remember, you’re strategy is to look like a team. Hold hands, wave, whatever. Good luck.”

With that the first few carriages move out and we lurch forward. I nearly fall over the front of our carriage but Rust catches me. Suddenly we are surrounded by blinding lights and the deafening cheers of the Capitol spectators. For a moment I am in shock from the grandeur of it all, but then I glimpse Rust waving at the crowd. I too begin waving and press the little button in my hand. With a ‘poof’ sparklers light up on our crowns and the tassels on our sleeves; releasing sparkly dust. Although I feel stupid, the crowd goes wild and the screens along the avenue change from shots of the tributes from seven, dressed as a poison ivy vine and a green tree, to a full view of us. I grab Rust’s hand and thrust it into the air triumphantly, we look like champions. I catch a rose in my left hand and blow kisses to the crowd. The parade seems to go on forever until the carriages begin to slow and enter a circle at the very end of the avenue. There we pull into line next to the tributes from district eight and district 12.

“Welcome, welcome. Tributes, we welcome you to the Capitol and thank you for your sacrifice. We sincerely hope that you enjoy and relish the honour it is to represent your districts in the 163rd annual Hunger Games. Now, without further ado, Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour,” comes the familiar voice of our President, Plumeria Fairhorn. She is actually quite a nice-looking lady who doesn’t seem to have fully succumbed to the distasteful fashion of the Capitol. She waves at the crowd before exiting the balcony she is standing on with her attendants. With that our carriages lurch away, leading back the way we came.

Rust helps me down from the carriage and we begin to walk back towards the lift to take us to our apartment; Frollick giving us rapturous praise and Vanil nodding his head in approval. I notice the pair from District 2, Spartia and Crito eyeing us up and down; evidently displeased that we earned so much attention.

“Frollick, let’s just go,” I snap, “I want to get to the apartment.”

The Careers snicker at us as we enter the elevator and I breathe a sigh of relief as the doors close behind us. Frollick keeps on babbling on about how ‘sensational’ we were and how we are such a ‘success’. It takes too long for the lift to reach the penthouse suite and I practically run away from him as the doors open.  That man is unbearable!

Our apartment is beautiful though. Everything is in shades of green. Dark green plush sofas, lime green chandeliers, forest-coloured carpets. Vanil chuckles when he sees Rust and I standing awestruck in the entryway. 

I am exhausted and grab a small pie-thing from an avox (Vanil explained that they were Capitol traitors and servants on the train) and run to my bedroom. Scrubbing off my makeup before hopping into the shower. My head hits my pillow in my bed and I fall asleep immediately.


	9. Snake at the Training Centre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peridotte goes down to training and meets her allies for the first time.

PERIDOTTE TOURMALINE

Gauze, my mentor, sits across the table from me, stirring honey into her bowl of cereal. I gaze at her, ignoring the toast sitting untouched on the plate before me. Gauze won the year that Tass was supposed to volunteer. She catches me staring at her, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

“What is it Peridotte?” she sighs.

“I.. what do I do in training?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “What I told you to do on the train, silly! Hang out with the Careers and ally with them. Test out the weapons you are particularly good with but don’t show off your strengths entirely.”

I nod at her and take a small bite out of my toast. 

Cerulea, my escort, trots into the room, her tall blue wig teetering precariously on her head. She is followed by Glaze and then Apollo. 

“Alright my dears, Peridotte and Glaze, it’s time to head down to training! Up up, you should have finished breakfast by now.”

I inwardly groan. Cerulea can be hard to swallow sometimes. She takes Glaze and I by hand and begin leading us to the elevators; like little kids. We shake her off and trail behind her. 

When we step out of the elevator into the Training Centre, we are met by the tributes from two, the ones from seven and eleven.

Spartia and Crito from two, our allies walk towards us. Spartia has a pinched face and coal-black eyes. She is clearly all muscle and even towers over Glaze. Crito is big and dark too, although not as tall as his district partner. 

“Hello Glaze, Peridotte,” drawls Spartia in a voice that immediately reminds me of Chenille, “I’m going to make the Career pack the deadliest it has ever been. So, if you two are gonna act like babies, Crito and I will kick you out. Got it? Are you in or not.”

I am shocked by how confrontational she is and can only nod when Glaze steps up and says “I’m in.” Spartia turns to me and smirks before stalking off towards the tributes from District 4 who have just stepped out of the lift. Our other two allies are beautiful. Coraline has flowing, wavy blonde hair and tanned skin. She is muscular and clearly trained in combat. She gives me a small smile before she and Caspian are confronted by Spartia. Caspian is tanned and tall, but looks kind of skinny. He constantly looks nervous, his eyes flitting from side to side and I overhear him talk to Coraline and realise that he has a stammer. Eventually all the tributes arrive, the ones from three getting down here last, and the Head Trainer, Leon, begins telling us the rules.

“Congratulations tributes. Today is the day where you are able to test out an array of weapons, but remember the key ground rule; no fighting. You will have plenty of time for that in the arena. Also remember to pay attention to the survival stations. Everyone wants to grab some sort of weapon to kill but starvation, dehydration, disease and exposure can be just as deadly. Tributes, you are dismissed.”

Glaze rolls his eyes at me and we head over to join the rest of our allies. It is clear that Spartia will be the leader of our alliance as she begins to order us around. 

“Alright guys. I want you to know that the mace is my weapon and it is a no-go for you. If, and there will be, a mace in the arena, it is mine. Ok? So, let me hear your specialties.”

Last night, Gauze told me to show off, show that I was talented but also be a bit of a bimbo so the rest of the Careers wouldn’t see me as a threat. So, after Glaze tells that he is good with throwing knives, Coraline reveals her innate trident-wielding ability and Crito and Caspian’s talent for sword-fighting, I toss my hair over my shoulder, flutter my eyelashes and giggle, “I’m pretty good with a bow and arrow, I guess?”

Spartia arches her eyebrow at me before moving on.

“Ok, Coraline and Crito, I want you to go work on the wrestling and hand-to-hand combat stations. Glaze, you’re with me and we’re going to the obstacle course. Caspian, Peridotte, to the poisonous plants station. I want everyone to observe the other tributes as well; their strengths and weaknesses. Got it? Now go.”

I’m a bit put off that Spartia sent me with Caspian to the plants station. I mean, come on, we have a cornucopia for a reason. I don’t need to be going to a station with all the weak tributes. I gaze enviously over at Coraline who is making her way to the hand-to-hand combat station and at Glaze who is mastering the obstacle course. I plonk down at the plant area next to Caspian and the instructor looks happy to finally have some Careers. I notice the timid girl from seven, with wide brown eyes and olive skin come sit down nest to us. As the instructor shows us pictures of plants that look pretty much identical, the little girl becomes more engrossed and Caspian fidgets with his shoelaces. 

The instructor then gets us to try identifying plants ourselves. To me, all the plants look the same and I only get eleven out of 30 correct. Caspian doesn’t do much better, scoring sixteen. Impressively, the girl, Ivy, gets 29 out of 30. She blushes and hurries off to join her District partner at the fire-building station. 

“C’mon, let's go,” I say to Caspian, feeling exhausted after tapping on pictures of plants for an hour and a half. We walk around the stations, surveying the competition until we meet up with Spartia and Glaze, who are now throwing knives. 

“Good, you’re finished. Now work on how to build a shelter,” she says, still focused on throwing a knife. Shelter building? Honestly, can’t we go to a proper station? I sigh and traipse off the the shelter building station with Caspian in tow. We endure another hour of learning how to build shelters with twigs and bark before the bell rings for lunch. I am so relieved and sit down next to Glaze and Coraline before a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a bread roll. Spartia gloats about how she was the best back in District 2 and how, when she wins, she will be joining her older sister, Hydra as a Victor. I smile and nod at her, but as soon as the bell rings to signal the end of lunch, I am abandoning my tray of half-eaten soup and bread crumbs and am running towards the archery station. I grab a bow and am nocking an arrow when I sense someone standing behind me. I let the arrow fly and feel the elated sensation of it hitting the centre of the bullseye before turning around. Spartia is there, smirking; her arms crossed and Crito standing behind her.

“Oh Peridotte, you were going to practice your shooting weren’t you? Well, Peridotte, I thought I said that you and Caspian were learning how to build a shelter, weren’t you?”

“I, uh.. We finished,” I stammer in reply.

“And did I tell you that you could come and shoot? No. We are an alliance Peridotte. Stop being so selfish and become a team player. If you don’t want to be in this alliance, know that you are my first target in that damned arena. Got it? Are you in or out?”

“In,” I gulp.

“Good, then take Caspian over to the treadmills with you. I saw you run: your technique is sloppy.”

*********

God, who thought someone could be so… rude? What makes her think that she can send me to the useless stations with pathetic Caspian? Then I realise she has singled Caspian and I out as the weakest in the alliance. She doesn’t see us as useful enough and isn’t bothering in training us. That hurts, but then again, do I want to be in an alliance with such a snake? 

My feet pump against the tread of the treadmill and I increase the speed and the incline. I scrunch my eyes up and just focus on running as hard and as fast as I can. My lungs are screaming at me, begging for more air and telling me to stop but I keep running, thinking about District 1 and how I’d love to go back and see Tass. How I’d love to see Father’s face when I win and when I refuse to have anything to do with him. A small smile creeps over my lips and I keep running like there is no tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, what do you think of this chapter. Your feedback is much appreciated :)


	10. Training Scores

FALINE CORBINN

I sit in the cold, clinical waiting room next to Arlo and the boy from Eleven. I stroke Arlo’s brown curls in an attempt to soothe him; he’s been a nervous wreck all day. Peridotte, from District One just went into her individual assessment, ten minutes after her district partner did. I sigh,  It’s going to be a long wait. As the hours tick by and the tributes trickle into the training room in front of a board of sponsors, I grow increasingly nervous. What am I going to do? Soon Grainne, the girl from 9 leaves the room as her name is called and Arlo wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me tight. He’s up next.

After ten minutes, Arlo is called in and I am left alone with the remaining tributes. Wrenna, from Twelve, gives me a small smile. We spoke in training and seems to be pretty good with a knife. She spoke about wanting to ally with me and Grainne for in the Games, but I’m not too sure. I want to protect Arlo, but my utmost priority is to just get me through this so I can go home to Da. I stare at the blank, grey walls and study a small crack, thinking about the main hall in our house and how there was a crack identical to that one, just next to Mum’s picture.

“Faline Corbinn, District 10,” calls the robotic voice that reverberates around the room. I stand up and force myself to walk towards the steel door. My feet feel like lead and my throat is dry and my hands can’t stop shaking; I hate performing in front of people.

As I enter the room, I see the panel of sponsors sitting in the elevated viewing booth.

“Faline Corbinn, District 10,” I call to them, vying for attention over their raucous laughter and fizzy orange drinks. I immediately make my way over to the trap-making station. I pick up a three pieces of rope and walk to the obstacle course that looks like a forest. I set my first trap in a tall, clearly artificial, tree and nod towards a trainer that I would like assistance. The middle-aged man comes forward and walks across the area that my trap has been set. One minute he is calmly walking on the ground, the next he is suspended from a tree, limbs flailing. I nimbly climb the tree and pretend to slit his throat with a small knife. I release him and set my second trap, which sends him flying in the air and then caught in an intricate web. 

This man is clearly skilled at escaping traps and manages to get partially free before I sprint after him, tackle him and ‘stab him’ to death.

I think I have a couple of minutes remaining and run over to the knife range where I throw my knife. It hits, just off centre, and I smile to the game makers before exiting the room.

I think I did well. I hope I did well.. But not too well. I step into the elevator and head up to the District 10 apartment, wondering whether or not I did well enough. When I arrive and step through the from door, Bellina and Guernsey are there.

“So, how did it go?” Guernsey asks.

“Pretty good.. I think.”

Guernsey leads me to the second sitting room. I see Arlo and Wolfe sitting in the first room, tears streaking down his cheeks, his mentor trying to console him.

“So,” my mentor says as we sit down in some puffy yellow chairs in a room with a large window that perfectly captures the sun setting over the Capitol, “what happened?”

“Uhh, well, I went in there and I did the traps like you told me. And they worked and then I threw my knife at the target and it hit.”

“Good,” the older woman says, patting my hand, “good. You did everything you could and now it is up to the gamemakers and sponsors. Go take a shower before dinner, it’s been a long day and we have interviews tomorrow.”

I go back to my room and take a shower, pulling on a summery yellow dress afterwards. It reminds me of Mum.

I step back into the main area of the apartment where some avoxes are setting up dinner; a roast turkey with many side dishes of broths, salads, soups and some round pink balls that look like weird cherries. Wolfe, Guernsey, Bellina and our stylists are already there, but Arlo still hasn’t arrived. I realise that I’m ravenous and sit down at my place. Wolfe and Guernsey clearly don’t mind table manners either because they sit down and begin eating too, despite Arlo not being here. After a few minutes, he walks into the room, his face red and blotchy; from crying. The mood in the room immediately changes and I feel uncomfortable as Arlo stiffly sits down next to me.

“Hey buddy, what’s up?” I ask him, attempting to cheer him up.

“Oh, nothing, only that I’m guaranteed to be dead within a week,” he says grimly, looking up at me with his round, brown eyes. They are missing that cheeky glint and sparkle that I had become so accustomed to. “Don’t you see?” he continues, “I have absolutely no chance. I’m one of the youngest tributes, I’m small, I’m unskilled and there is no way I could have a single sponsor.”

“Arlo, you can’t say that. I’m sure you have plenty of sponsors.”

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t just sit in the middle of the floor for fifteen minutes during your assessment.”

Oh, he really won’t have any sponsors. Poor little thing. And he has lost all hope. We eat the rest of dinner in awkward silence.

Once we have finished dinner, we settle in front of the couches for the reveal of our training scores. I dread the moment when Katinka Hassain, in her sparkly pink wig, reads out the scores from district 10,m not only for Arlo, but for my sake. I try to wrap my arm around the little boy to comfort him, but he just sits as stiff as a board, showing no emotion as Katinka begins. 

Peridotte, the pretty girl from One, gets a 9 and Glaze, a 10. Spartia from District 2 gets an unbelievable score of 11 while Crito receives a 10. The two from three, Gamma and Atomus, receive a six and a five, respectively. Coraline received a 10 and Caspian an eight; quite a low score for a career tribute. 

The tributes from 5 both score fives and the girl from six gets a seven. Her district partner, the little raggedy boy who coughed all through the Reaping and Training receives only a three. 

Ivy, the small girl from District Seven gets a six and Ackerly an eight. That is a surprisingly good score for a tribute from an outlying district. Then it shows Grainne from 9, who scores a seven and Kimmel who scores a six. 

Katinka Hassain then picks up a card with a large 10 written on the back. I brace myself for what is to come.

“Now, onto our tributes from District 10. Sixteen-year old Faline has been awarded a score of… eight.”

An eight! Bellina gasps and claps her hand while Guernsey leans over and pats my knee.

“That’s great Faline, real good. We can definitely work with that.”

I am so pleased with my score. I didn’t fail after all but the room refocuses as the woman on the screen begins to break the next score.

“Now for twelve-year old Arlo with a score of… one.” Katinka looks quite shocked as she reads that number from her card. I can’t remember the last time anyone scored a  one . Arlo just sits there, rigid but a small tear slowly slides down his cheek. Guernsey and Wolfe sit in shocked silence before the little boy runs off to his room. The elation from my high-ish score was clearly doused by Arlo’s pitiful one. 

I ask Guernsey to fill me in on the rest of the scores later and follow Arlo to his room.

“Arlo,” I say, knocking on his door, “come on honey, it’s all right.” All I hear is crying coming from inside the room so I take the liberty to let myself in. The kid is lying amongst masses of pillows, his chest heaving and his body wracked with sobs. I sit down on the bed beside him and pull him onto my lap, stroking his soft curls.

“Hush, it’ll be alright honey.”

Then I begin to sing to him, a song my mother taught me. She would sing it to me in the months before her death, when she sat in her bed, stroking my hair. I can still hear her beautiful voice; clear, melodic and full of passion.

"One day before the rain only for a moment the earth inhales again

It seems like time stood still before the wind creeping to the trees upon the hill  
And a blind man finds a way between the beauty and decay  
Over roses in the dust, behind doors are made to rust  
Lies a field of a thousand nails beneath cemetery vales

And one day before the rain  
He is searching there again  
Where no one ever meets  
And one day before the rain  
He is searching there again  
Where no one ever meets  
On the Scarlet Flower Fields

The scent of sweet perfume is a lair of pale illusions with a tainted Paris tune  
The dark an lonely side binds this liquid marriage for shadows and the light  
Somewhere by the fireside lies a man, eyes open wide  
Flee on the effect of plants, he translates and understands  
For the hidden side to see in this secret poetry

And one day before the rain  
He is searching there again  
Where no one ever meets  
And one day before the rain  
He is searching there again  
Where no one ever meets  
On the Scarlet Flower Fields  
On the Scarlet Flower Fields  
On the Scarlet Flower Fields  
On the Scarlet Flower Fields.”

As I finish my song and the illusion of my mother sitting there, holding me tight, fades, I look down at Arlo. He is asleep. I gently lay him down on the bed before creeping out to rejoin my mentors and Bellina in the sitting room. 

“He’s asleep,” I say to them. Wolfe nods in reply,

“He’s a good boy. I hate to think what will happen to him..” he trails off but we all know the meaning behind his words. Arlo is right, he has no chance in that goddy arena.

“After you left that pretty little thing from Eleven, Anthea, I think her name is. Anyway, she scored a four and her partner scored a six,” chimes in Bellina. “And then the tall girl from twelve, Wrenna, scored an eight also. Were you thinking of allying with her darling? Because she is a good choice but that nose and all those freckles and she’s awfully gangly isn’t she, well we can’t all be blessed with good looks can we?”

“Oh shut up Bellina,” says Guernsey, “But yes, Wrenna did score an eight. Do you know how?”

“She probably showed off with her knife. She taught me how to throw on the second day of training, remember?”

“Ah yes. Well I think you should trust her. Her mentor’s nice too. Chanda; she’s very decent, hasn’t led a tribute to victory in a while though, has she Wolfe? Not since Hilt?” 

Wolfe nods gruffly, “Yeah, and the Pick from twelve scored a five. Then the pair from thirteen both scored sixes.”

I smile and bid everyone goodnight before retiring to my room. Interviews are tomorrow. Ugh, I’ll have to speak in front of so many people. 

As I climb into bed, my mind wanders back to Mum. I dream of being eleven years old again, carefree and loved. Running through the tall grass with the wind in my hair, picking herbs on the periphery of the woods with Mum, singing with my parents on the cold winter nights on the hearthrug by the fire. The warmth envelops me and I fall into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, what do you think of this chapter? I know it's kinda taking a REALLY long time to finish this story, but trust me, I;'m getting there.
> 
> Btw, I don't own the song in this story, it's called 'Scarlet Flower Fields' by Vander Plas.


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